


Cause and effect

by Straj



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straj/pseuds/Straj
Summary: Sherlock is watching and learns the reason for the craze of slash fanfiction where the main character he acts and all those who surround him.The revenge will be terrible.





	

Sherlock woke up early in the morning, sat up in bed, stretched and walked to the bathroom.  
The house was quiet. There was nobody outside the window, all was quiet.  
Sherlock took a bath, shaved that beard of wheat was not evident, clash with black hair, and went to the kitchen.  
There he brewed his coffee, in order to cheer up, and returned to the room to get dressed.  
Then went into the living room and turned on the TV.  
There was absolutely nothing, and Sherlock was lazily flipping through the channels, when suddenly he was attracted by the words of the leader of one of the morning show:  
— Revealed horrifying secret of all the slash fan fiction about Sherlock and the doctor! Today in our Studio are the ones who started this slash - mania! Welcome!  
Sherlock glared at the screen. There was... Mycroft.

Taut, elegant, impeccably tailored suit and with the same umbrella in hand.  
— Mr. Holmes, — said to him leading, - you are the elder brother of Sherlock, how could you write about it? How did you planned it?  
— I was... noticed that Sherlock is very sexy, - began to talk Mycroft, — I just saw the looks that were thrown at him all around... and I didn't like it. I find myself in the shadow of his brother. So I decided to write a slash and put his younger brother in a bad and disgusting, so he went into the shadows.  
— Your first experience?  
\- My first experience was called "Dumb as a fish," - the voluptuous Mycroft smiled, - now I will tell you about the plot. It was a small story on two pages. Briefly, the plot is as follows. Sherlock meets Dr. Watson. And his first night puts cancer and Fucks, with no protective means, very roughly. But Sherlock, this approach is like, and the next night John takes hold of Sherlock again, roughly forcing him into oral and anal form. And this begins his sexual experience. John, as a former soldier, puts Sherlock on the level of the green rookie. Has it fuck, makes you work at home, take work home, sells his body to everyone... and for sexual pleasures and for purely erotic photo sessions. Do not believe it, when I wrote it, felt extremely excited.  
\- Thank you, Mr. Holmes, - leading switched to the second participant, — meet — Martha Hudson!

Martha was wearing a black simple dress fabulously a lot, skillfully painted, rootstock. She went to the sofa and sat down.  
\- Mrs Hudson! And how did you come to this genre?  
\- Well, you know — Martha was worried, - I'm the landlady of Sherlock, and it is clear that I... would be more... aware that the audience decided not to show. But in our case, show nothing. So I decided to diversify the life of Sherlock by my literary experience. What have I done to John?  
\- But... - the host has squeezed out a weak smile, - Watson describes the case...  
— Right, well... I... invented, — Martha sheepishly looked down, — on the first day my story was like eight thousand people.  
\- And?  
— The story was called "Spat", filled three pages and was about the following. John fought with Sherlock and went into the cold night. Sherlock quickly moved away from all these words that John poured on him, and went off to find a mate. In the supermarket he met a prominent young man who called himself a fan of Holmes and asked to visit.  
After they returned, newfound friend drugged, section and began to rape Sherlock in all the cracks, but then came John. He was beaten by fan and fucked Sherl`s directly on the body of the intruder. Brought Sherlock to orgasm, ending with the two on the stunned body, and then raped and fan.  
When Sherlock came to himself a little, John, angry that his detective has to kill someone, forced Sherlock to blow him, and with all vehemence. But since Sherlock was still drunk, John had to have possibly fucked it yourself.  
After John apologized to the other, took him into the bath, washed, fucked again, laid in bed and fucked to sleep, after which she embraced him and they fell asleep.  
— God! — said the host, covered with beads of perspiration, - you tell so juicy that I almost cum.  
\- Me too, - muttered Mycroft, opening the umbrella.  
— Commercial break! — announced presenter.

Flashed bright pictures, and Sherlock sat in front of the screen and ragged breathing. He thought that the brother and the landlady is capable of such dirty thoughts.

— Meet third party! — announced the presenter, when advertising came to an end, - Molly Hooper!  
Molly timidly entered the Studio and settled down between Martha and Mycroft.  
— And you?  
\- I work in the morgue — said Molly, - and Sherlock comes back to work with the corpses. And now imagine what he's actually DOING?!  
— You wrote a story?  
— "Ice night." Sherlock comes to the morgue and starts fucking the corpses, incidentally beating their stack and causing them injury piercing objects. He's just throwing a temper and Orgy of the dead bodies, then these bodies come to life, turning into a zombie. And they begin to force Sherlock in different poses, leaving his ice and foul seed in it and on it.  
— God! — stared lead — smacks of Quentin Tarantino!  
\- Thank you, - stammered Molly.

— Next guest is Philip Anderson and Sally Donovan.  
These very timidly slipped into the Studio and dove into the edge of the sofa.  
— And you somehow came up with this idea? — bored said lead — what it is so you got what you two that beat the ratings of "50 shades of grey" and "50 shades of black" together?  
\- Sherlock was always too smart, - said Donovan.  
\- And he hates me, - echoed Anderson.  
\- We just decided to take revenge...  
\- ... and wrote this little story...  
— ... but we didn't want anything bad...  
— ... just have fun...  
— ... while I was writing, fucked...  
\- And what was the name of your masterpiece?  
\- "White, red, blue"...  
— And about what?  
— It all starts on the roof of Barts, — began to tell Donovan, - Moriarty and Sherlock, having spread on the roof of the hospital coat Holmes, enthusiastically fucking. Then, Jim says that they have to hide from the public, because nobody will understand what unites and criminal genius of the great detective. Sherlock fakes suicide and goes on a long love affair with Jim. Moriarty commits a crime, and Sherlock unmasks him, but in bed they put up. A rough summary.  
\- Yeah. The apotheosis of all this is to be the scene where they have each other at Buckingham Palace in the Queen's bed, and the bed with the British flag, - grinned Anderson, - Sally wrote the feelings, and I... anatomy.

\- After this we have special guests! - said leading and announced a commercial break.

Sherlock on stiff legs slid from the chair and went to the kitchen for a Cup of coffee. He would have expected that from Anderson and Donovan. They did not like and could not stomach, but Molly... how could she do this to him?!

Returned when the host announces the next guest:  
— Irene Adler!  
It came in a black fishnet dress, sat in a chair for VIP guests and began to tell:  
— This young man liked me just as soon as I saw it, and I relentlessly pursued the idea like to enjoy such a perfect body. But because of the circumstances, I couldn't do...  
— So you wrote this piece? - interrupted her master.  
\- Yes, - Irene smiled, - it was something absolutely fantastic...  
\- And readers to fully appreciate your talent, — it flattered the presenter.  
\- Thank you. I called it "Stack sex". In brief it on the following. Sherlock, thanks to his youth, genius and sexuality gets in the way of political ambitions Mycroft. But instead of just send brother outside the UK, Mycroft begins to use the mind and the beauty brother. He puts it under those individuals who can be useful further for promotion.  
Using Sherlock... he's embittered and aware of himself as a puppet in the hands of a skilled manipulator. But then he meets retired General John Watson. Watson is terminally ill. In his head sits a splinter, which cannot be removed. And Sherlock falls in love with him and given to John with all the ardor of a young soul.  
John is very sympathetic to Sherlock, but sometimes he finds, and hot nights of love turn into a bloody Orgy. But Sherlock suffer all these tortures, all body and soul surrendering to the beloved.  
But John gets to the hospital. A splinter removed, but John dies because he discovered an inoperable brain tumor. Sherlock, upon learning of the death of a loved one commits suicide, burning themselves in the oven of the crematorium along with the body of John Watson.

— How pathetic! — cried Martha.  
— How sublime! — sobbed Molly.  
\- Is masterpiece! - exclaimed Donovan and Anderson.  
— Incredible! - Mycroft pursed his lips, - but I need to do.  
— Yes! I had a blast! And now we meet the last guest, Mary Watson!

 

Mary confidently entered the Studio and is housed on the second chair. She was wearing that little black dress that Irene brought to the cheekbones.  
— Well, here you are, - began the host, - wife of John, and you weren't ashamed to write about the best friend of your husband?  
\- Sherlock's own fault, - snapped Mary, — John is talking about him.  
— And you, too, decided to take revenge?  
— Of course.  
— A John?  
\- And John doesn't know about it.  
\- And what was the name of your work?  
— Very simple and unassuming, - Mary smiled, — "Painful death Sherlock".  
— What's it about?  
— Sherlock is kidnapped Moriarty and Moran. They stripped and hung in the room, and then begin to taunt him. They raped him, twisting nipples with pliers, cauterize the foreskin is a gas heater, draw on it with a knife the different patterns.  
But to help Sherlock comes to John. The kidnappers quickly unwound. Sherlock begins to warmly thank, but John first raped Sherlock. Then cuts the rope, lowers the body of Sherlock on the blood and the sperm floor, fingering at him, forcing him to swallow a seed, then cut off his penis and Fucks in the hole. Then he holes where the nipples mutilated and ends there.  
When the tension released, John lifts Sherlock's hair, puts on the knees and causes bleeding and exhausted Holmes to give him a blow job, then has him in his left eye, blinding the detective. With a knife removes his scalp, and perform the craniotomy, and then plunges his cock into delightfully delicate brain of Sherlock and Fucks until, until the last sigh.  
And finally, he cuts off his head and poured the cut in the trachea.

Throw a dead detective, John leaves, but then comes back, burns it all and happy mood going home.

— Cruel — handed moderator, - but you all are very readable writers. When we will be able to enjoy your new masterpieces?

Sherlock turned off the TV, lay down on the sofa and burst into tears. So his John and found.  
— What happened,Sherl?  
\- They're... they're... - Sherlock waved his hand at the TV, — there...  
— Who?  
— Martha, Mary, Molly, Mycroft, Anderson, Donovan and Adler... They began to write slash fanfiction... about us... with you... - cried Sherlock into the pillow, - God, how embarrassing...  
— Martha? — did not believe John, - do not drive...  
— Look... I... "Disagreement"...

John opened the Internet, typed name, found search, read and get angry.  
— You old bitch! — he cried in their hearts, — I will go now and all she will Express. And you, — he turned to Sherlock, - calm down. And it is better to write on paper those who hurt you and what they wrote about you...  
\- Thank you, - Sherlock sobbed, wiping her tear-stained eyes.

John went downstairs, bought the cooking pan and broke in Martha. The one bending over the keyboard, typing enthusiastically. John tiptoed and looked:  
— "... John gently lowered the shirt with a muscular rope of Sherlock, revealing a marvelous neck and fragile collarbone, pressed his mouth to the left nipple, causing Sherlock's mouth parted. John left a tight knot of flesh and wickedly dug its ravenous mouth in these gorgeous lips. While his tongue was doing all sorts of depraved things in the mouth of Sherlock's hands caressing his Horny chest of the detective, in response to..."

John, covered with a thick flush of anger, with all my strength dropped a frying pan on the head of Martha. He heard a nasty crunch, and Martha poked his head into the keyboard.  
— You have to wash away blood, - came a voice from the door.  
John quickly turned around.  
Near the door stood... Mick.  
\- Are you from here? - inquired John.  
\- Transmission seen, - said Mick, stepping into the room, - and decided to find out, as here, Sherlock.  
— Bad, — replied John, — he's hysterical.  
— Of course — Mick glanced through written and erased the text, - put the old woman. Going from the body to get rid of. At the same time figure out how to kill the rest.  
\- Okay, - John gave pan Mick`s, and he dragged Martha to wear.

Twenty minutes later three people came out of the house 221 b. It was Mick, John and Martha. Sherlock, the joint efforts of two friends are in order and have tasted the tea with a healthy dose of rum and Valerian, sleep in room, quietly sobbing in her sleep.

Merry company, without attracting too much attention, got to the Thames, where, and sat down to admire the Majesty of the tower and feed the ducks.  
— How are we going to kill the rest? — asked John.  
\- Each render according to his works, — said Mick, holding the package two bricks — one that has been written about Sherlock, Tom, and come.  
— We'll have to read all this dirt, - sad John, tenderly embracing Martha by the neck so she doesn't fly off the bench ahead of time.  
— Read and begin to retaliate, - Mick stood up and looked around.

No one was there. In black river reflected only bright spot lights. Mick tied to the feet of Martha bricks and cast iron. John dragged the old lady's body to the edge and pushed;Martha quietly on the bottom left, not even causing a splash.  
— Rest in peace, you old fuck! - muttered John.  
— Now let's go home. We have a lot of work, - Mick put his arm around John's shoulders.  
— Come on.

***

 

The next morning we all woke up late. Mick and John were sluggish, and Sherlock was sitting quietly and staring into the sad mug of tea.  
— And now what? - John asks after Breakfast.  
— How could they? — sob Sherlock.  
— Mycroft, we just removed will not be able, — Mick tapped the list with a pen, - is flying high right now, so let's start with Molly.  
— Martha? - asked Sherlock.  
— Martha we finished yesterday, - said John.  
\- Thank you.  
— Not for that. They all hurt you. And you're our friend! — gravely said Mick, — and for you, I will tear the throat all. Now you stay at home, and John and watch Molly. At the same time figure out how to strike back.

 

***

Molly finished work and went home; she did not step over the threshold of his apartment, like something was wearing on her head a bag.  
Getting rid of the bag happened unexpectedly. Molly looked around and found that is located in the old moss-covered tomb.  
— Where am I? - she said.  
— In the cemetery, - said an unfamiliar voice, - now take off your clothes.  
— Let me... - indignantly began Molly, but then someone hit her in the mouth.  
— When you're sick, wrote about Sherlock that he was raping corpses, what were you thinking?! - before Molly was furious John, - take off your clothes, bitch!!!  
— But John... - tried to rebel again, but Watson literally shook her clothes from the top, pulled off his underwear and chained handcuffed to the bars.  
\- Help me, - John looked at Mick`s.

He came out of the darkness and helped to move the coffin. Under the hood revealed a slightly tarnished corpse of a young man.  
— Get in the coffin, - Mick told Molly, - go, go.  
\- No!!! — she yelled.  
— You then no one will hear, - is confidentially whispered Mick, took Molly across the trunk and threw her to the coffin, — on his fucking face, but we'll see.  
— But it's dead!!!  
\- And fuck was about Sherlock the fuck to write! — furious John, - now she fuck with the dead!!!  
— "Little, little, little, a young nurse in the night again on duty at the morgue, little, little, little, young nurse can not live without deadly orgies", - softly sang Mick, — "watchdog will not be able to protect them, it will be chills, this is the corpse next to me, Iya-Iya-Iya-Iya. With a dead body happily, as if in a dream, the corpse just for me, it's me, Iya-Iya-Iya-Iya". - With that, Mick slid the coffin, ignoring the cries of Molly and nailed her nails.

— Who now? - John asks, edging out Hooper from the list; they were driving through the night, returning to London.  
— I think Donovan and Anderson, - said Mick, - After — Adler, well, then... we'll see.  
— How will drench these two?  
\- I don't know yet. I need to sleep and eat. Then I'll think of something.  
\- Good, - nodded John, - I still washed out. The entire burial ground smelled. I think she'll make it?  
— Hardly, — Mick glanced at John, - coffin boarded up, a massive cover up... she's already died...

***

 

The decision by Anderson and Donovan came Mick`s in my sleep. In the morning he woke up, waking John, told his plan of action.  
\- Okay, - agreed John, - he went to Wake Sherlock.  
Shook it and made a plan of action.

At ten o'clock Sherlock called Anderson.  
— Listen, I need your help...  
— What for?  
— Where's Donovan?  
\- I do not know.  
— I was called Moriarty, and said that Sally is in the abandoned docks, and if you let me lead, he'll let her go.  
— Where to meet?

They met at the gates of the port and freely penetrated inside, but while wandering through the maze of containers, Sherlock disappeared into the darkness, and Anderson came on as a half-open container painted with the English flag.  
Broke... and in a dark corner on the British flag... naked and ready for mating... Sally.  
\- What's wrong with you?! — he rushed to her, but then he was hit on the head, and Anderson passes out.

When he recovered, he was also naked and ready for mating. Near him two men stood, all in black and with masks on their faces. Anderson looked around. It was the room, hung with a variety of sex toys. But then the door opened and the room began to enter naked men...

— Nice they will fuck, - with satisfaction in his voice said to John, listening to the piercing cries Donovan and hoarse moans Anderson.  
— No doubt — with grim determination in his voice answered Mick, — criminals — they are...  
— Fuck to death? — obscene grinned John, - what Greg says?  
\- Is not our problem, - snorted Mick, - get outta here. On stage — Irene Adler.  
— Fire...  
— Right thoughts... and the stack...  
— ... and sex...  
— ... but not with us...  
— ... and Sherlock...  
— ... and with whom?  
— Don't know, - sad John.  
— I know, - brutally grinned Mick, - but it takes time. And now went home. And sleep with a clear conscience.

***

 

Four days Mick something mysterious worked, even on Baker street, to the great chagrin of Sherlock.  
But John was busy too — stepped up Greg.  
First he came over to Martha Hudson.  
Then from behind Molly Hooper.  
More later about Donovan and Anderson.  
But John just shrugged.  
Sherlock puzzled staring eyes, awkwardly pretending that he cares about.  
As Mick said what did to Benedict and Sophie arrived, so it is better not to touch.

— All four of them as the water sunk! — resented Greg — can not get through, they are not at home. Where are they hanging around?  
From this it followed that, one of the missing, the police could not find.  
It was good.

But the fifth day, Mick appeared on Baker street 221 b, talked to John and picked him up, and stole from under the nose of Greg.  
— Where are you going? — shouted Lestrade.  
— A surprise for Sherlock to... do... — said Mick, hiding in the dark with John.

\- What is it? - whispered John.  
— Everything is arranged, - grinned Mick, - your task is to pass on Irene's letter, - handed him the envelope, - the address written here. Then meet here. - Mick pointed a finger at the map.  
\- And Lestrade?  
\- His Sherlock is. I have been with him agreed.

***

Irene went on a date.  
On a date with Sherlock.  
He wrote her a fine letter.  
He was waiting for her.  
And she moved to meet his destiny in anticipation of touching the hard body of the great detective.  
And here's the coveted house.  
And in the house...  
And in the house for a surprise. On the bed sat a linked Moriarty without clothes and... Magnussen... also without clothes. Also connected... and glasses in the ass....   
And the door closed, and the shutters, doors, dominoes, clapped in unison.  
— What is it? - whispered Irene.  
And I heard a voice.  
— But for the fact that wrote about Sherlock a transcendent thing, got you in his own imagination. And get you is not possible. Farewell, ladies and gentlemen!

Irene quickly untied Moriarty and Magnussen, but the doors were locked, secret passages are closed, the shutters are clogged... and it was quiet.

— Are you sure we did the right thing, plunging into this game these two bastards? - John looked at the blazing house.  
Instead, Mick put it in the hands of a few sheets.  
— What is it? John began to run the text through the eyes. From the first lines it was filled that hot wave of unbearable shame and indignation that John already suffocated.  
\- And how dare they?! — quivering with righteous anger, muttered John.  
— Now do you not feel sorry for them? — asked Mick, taking the text and throwing it into the hot fire.  
— Now there is. Those bastards got what he deserved.

The house burned from the inside thoroughly. Ceiling has failed.  
\- And bones remained, - Mick looked at the dark gaps of Windows.  
\- And what if they survived?  
— Then I will personally shoot him, - gritted his teeth, Mick, - went home, we still have a surprise for Cheryl to take.

Cake for the detective, box of Goodies and a bottle of Irish liqueur turned Sherlock into a soft fluffy kitten, which Mick took to the bed and covered her with a blanket. Greg came in good spirits and left warm company myself. And Mick and John opened another bottle of liquor and began to think how lime Mycroft and Mary.  
\- Mary's just for you, - in the end, decided John, - Mycroft and I take. Now go to sleep.  
— How do you want me to get rid of it? — Mick threw a quick glance at Watson.  
— Not the... no, let suffering lying bitch! - snapped John, - after what I have read, I am ready to break. Yeah, rip her, Mick, tear it apart.  
\- As you say, but Mycroft should not have to die...  
\- Don't worry, - yawned John. — all the way through...

***

Mycroft has died by the end of the next day. Told from poisoning by substandard low-fat cottage cheese, got into a batch of products from Russia.

In the evening of the same day on Baker street was quiet. Mick's not here yet, John said would come later. Sherlock was sitting with his laptop in his chair and thought.  
The door creaked.  
Sherlock raised his head.  
Come John. He took off his jacket, took off his shoes and went to the kitchen to make the punch.  
— It's cold outside, - stated a fact Sherlock, - have your nose frozen.  
\- Yes. You're right.  
— But Mick?  
\- Mick will come. He called and said that half an hour delayed. Again, a surprise will bring.  
— It's okay, - Sherlock smiled, - I know what I'll do. Fluffy I will write fanfic about three of us.  
\- Why?  
— To tell you that I love you.  
\- We know this, Sherl, - John smiled, — put off the laptop, we could have tea.

About an hour later came Mick. He was pale.  
— What happened? — worried asked Sherlock.  
— It's all over, — Mick smiled weakly and slowly took off his jacket. He slowly hung up, quietly took off his shoes and went to the sofa. John gave him a mug of tea.  
— All? — mouths muttered John, - long time?  
— No. It is unlikely to find.  
\- Okay.

They sat and drank tea. Came Greg.  
— John?  
— Yes?  
\- Mary where?  
— I don't know, - John's honest eyes stared at Greg.  
\- Sure?  
— Yeah.  
— Mick?  
— No. I don't know, — Mick smiled.  
— Are you sure?  
— Of course. Call me Benedict if you don't believe.  
— Believe, — Greg hesitated on the threshold, - well, I went. And yet, Lestrade turned on the threshold, — the Adler was gone and... Mycroft died. I'm sorry, Sherlock.  
\- Thank you.

Greg left.

Mick waited until the steps Greg subside, and slam the door downstairs and said,  
— So will all who Sherlock or Ben hurt.  
\- I agree, - nodded John.  
\- And I write fanfic! - said Sherlock.


End file.
